BUILD YOUR CASTLES IN THE AIR, THEN PUT THE FOUNDATIONS UNDERNEATH THEM

Mr. Thoreau told us. Like a lot of his advice, it seems backwards to me. But what a castle!

We had a castle in MTV. Oh, it wasn't much of one, but when you're teenaged, it would do. It was out in the boons (as if MTV wasn't) and that's where we spent a lot of weekends.

Once driving became a focal point of our lives, we lived in our cars. And if we didn't have one of our own, we borrowed the parents' on weekends. And headed to the woods.

There were really only so many places you could hit in MTV Proper. But with 13 feeder schools filtering into MTV High, there was plenty of country. Johnny Rabbit on KXOK and Dick Biondi on WLS could be heard from every car.

Bushwacking was a popular activity. You just rode around looking for where guys took their girls parking. Wow, I am sounding old. Next I'll be using the terms beau and sparking and making whoopee. And when you'd find them, you'd shine light, honk your horn, or even sneak up on them and shake the car. The best ever, and forgive me if you've heard this one, was performed by George Felty. On a country road, secluded and perhaps better described as a country lane, he went down one end and with a chain saw cut down a tree that fell across the east end of the road. Similarly, on the west end, literally trapping the couple in the middle of the lane.

Pretty extreme. Most nights it was just driving, talking, and listening to the radio. One of my friends, Jimmy Tapocik, had a reverberator hooked up to his radio. Basically, it made it louder, but we all thought that was cool. Another friend had an oogga horn on his parents' Nash, and we thought that was something, too.

I know I'm stopping now, but that's the way it was back then in the Midwest. Unless there was a high school football or basketball game.

THERE ARE A WHOLE LOT OF THINGS I DON'T UNDERSTAND

One of them is igloos. They must work. I mean, they've been around forever. They're fun to make with sugar cubes. Eskimo kissing is fun, too. But I don't understand the igloo (it's even a fun word to say) unless its sole purpose is to be used as a wind break.

Our house in AZ doesn't have a great R rating for insulation. When it gets cold, the walls, even the interior ones get cold on the inside. Imagine how cold if they're made of compacted snow and ice. So if your source of heat is body heat, and if you get a lot of Eskimo bodies in there and it starts to warm up, then your house melts.

Plus, there has to be some kind of opening to allow more oxygen in or it would get used up after a short while. Cracks in the ice blocks? That would defeat the windbreak if you had too many. Ice dampers? I doubt it with all the snow.

As I said, there are tons of things I don't know. But I know I got cold just writing this entry.

I DON'T KNOW WHO TO BLAME
For my height or lack of it thereof as they might say at Neubauer and Overstreet. I guess both sides of the family. It seems that all males through my generation stopped growing at 5'8''.

Fortunately, the next generations of males grew to be 6' and 6'2. I hope it's not one of those skip a generation thing and Grant and Nathan will revert back to shortness.

Platform shoes in the early 70's were a blesssing to me. Of course, it put the already tall even taller, but many didn't embrace the style and discomfort, so I had an advantage.

In those days at MTV High, I would arrive early to begin my day in the Teachers' Lounge with several other good buddies. Jim Blair perhaps best described it in a poem he wrote for JAVA magazine,"Sophists sit in smoke and cackle at a six month joke." We had a lot of jokes back then, too.

Two of the cacklers, who happened to be two of the nicest people I've ever known, were Dick Walton and Noble Thomas. Mr. Thomas didn't join us often, but he was always up for a good joke. The collaboraters decided to make me a pair of purple platform shoes that were probably six inches high. And since I would be so much taller, I would need a taller desk. No problem. A few jacks elevated the desk another twelve inches or so.

I went to my first hour class and saw the desk was all ready for me. Mr. Thomas entered my room with the new shoes. I was told to put them on right there. And you did not want to refuse Mr. Thomas, perhaps the strongest man I ever knew. Then I was told to sit at my desk, which I could barely see over. And yes, Mr. Walton was there, too.

My class loved it. I was embarrassed. Even my department head came over from next door to see what the commotion was about.

The next day, things were back to normal. I kept those purple shoes for years. Just in case Coach Thomas needed me to put them on again.

I'VE NEVER BRONCO NAGURSKI-ED

But I have Chip Shank-ed, or shank a few chip shots in my time. I wouldn't begin to know how to Nagurski.

But he has to have the greatest football name of all time. Chip Shank, by the way, is the name of a guy in my Bible Study Fellowship small group. And he has the best name for a golfer that I ever heard.

As one of Adam's pre-apple partaking tasks, he got to name all the animals. Now that would have been fun. I'm not sure what rhinosaurus was in the original language, but you just know that it was an ugly sounding word. While lamb, panther, cardinal, even cub were reserved for beautiful animals. One of the worst sounding animal names to me is ox, yet when an f is added, it doesn't sound bad at all.

Mickey Mantle is the perfect baseball name. Marilyn Monroe, the perfect starlet. Bob Pettit is an awfully good name for a basketball player. Dikembe Mutumbo's not bad for the modern all-world player.

And that's not even looking at nicknames. Mudhen, Catfish, Wee Willie are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to colorful names. Hammerin Hank sounds so much better than Balco Barry. Night Train so much better than Tee Oh or Ocho Cinco.

It's hard to end an entry on nicknames or connotatively good sounding names. But to illustrate the importance of names, William Dawes rode much farther warning the colonists that the British were coming than a more famous and great sounding name Paul Revere.

THE TIP CONTINUED

With all kinds of things to write about today, I ignore John Kerry (hey, at least Rush offered an apology) (did he think the draft was still going on and if you didn't study, you'd be stuck in Iraq?) as I ignored him two years ago. I also chose not to get all excited about my beloved Suns first game of the season. And for good reason--they didn't get too excited after their first quarter outburst of 41 points.

Anyway(s), The Tip could have been entitled Faceoff, Coin Toss, or Kickoff. It's all about control. Of course, it could have been the tip of the iceberg for a tryst. Who knows?

What about the dialogue? I don't like all the quotation marks, and he said, she replied: thus, little punctuation, but you get the idea. What motivates the girl? The guy and the former girlfriend, probably a rival or enemy.

What's the conflict? To wrestle away the guy from the old flame. Is she succesful? After a very short conversation.

Who's the aggressor? Both--it shifts.

And why does she reject him? Because she won. She could have him; she's taken him away from the rival. She wanted what she wasn't allowed. She got him. But she doesn't want him. She wanted control. She got it. But she'll move on to someone else. Someone she can't attain. Until she can, and then she doesn't want him anymore.

Finally, when will I stop being an English teacher? Probably the same time I ditch, the Cardinals, Rams, and Suns.

Note: please refer to yesterday's entry for a view of The Tip.

THE TIP

So, maybe I wanted to be left alone.
That's no good.
I need to sort out.
What's there to sort?
I mean she made it pretty clear.
What do you know about it?
Enough.
She wouldn't tell you.
You're right.
Then what do you know?
One. It's your fault. Two. She's not likely to forgive. Three. I'm here.
And?
She's not.
Come here.
No way.

And so what the dialogue about? And the picture?

Questions to ponder: what's the title mean? What happens in the dialogue? What do we know about the girl? The guy? What was the girl's motivation? Was she right in her assertation? What is the conflict? Who is the aggressor? Who is the rejector?

And of course, when is this blogger ever going to get over being an English teacher? These answers in tomorrow's entry.

ELECTRIFIED!! 2006 WORLD CHAMPS

I was beginning to wonder. The years pass. The close calls become a unified effort for next season redemption. Players file for free agency. Players get traded. Ownership cuts payroll. Ownership handcuffs late season acquisitions.

But all that is history. The Cardinals are World Champions. And all is right with the world. Cardinal Nation can let out one collective sigh of relief.

Let's see: Central Divison Champs, National League Champs, World Series Champs!! What a season. Oh, sure, there will be those who point to the fewest number of wins...the lowest ever tv ratings...the cold, soggy weather. But there are always those in denial. Always those that can't appreciate.

It was a crazy World Series where Detroit pitchers couldn't throw the ball anywhere except to home plate. A Series where fans would rather see Molina and Taguchi and Eck at the plate than Pujols or Edmonds. A Series where Anthony Reyes and Jeff Weaver were basically unhittable. Along with the Cardinal bullpen. Flores, and Kinney, and Johnson..oh My.

A Series that showcased Adam Wainwright as a drop dead, shut down closer. All the while, TLR as master puppetier, pulling all the right strings, making his martinets perform above and beyond their capabilities. In that beautiful new stadium, soon to be enhanced by Ballpark Village. Amidst that proverbial sea of red.

What a Series! What a baseball town! Savor!